This sickness has
derailed me.
I've scaled back on
the things that
matter most.
Life has become
askew.
I'm tangled up in
blue and red lines,
back against the
fence.
I'm frozen and febrile.
Insecticide burns on
my spirit.
Pesticide in my lungs.
I'm sick of all
these chemicals.
They are in my dreams,
and in my bones.
Maybe, she is the infection...
Never mind, it's just Covid 19.

She is a poem of his heart
He never disclosed
In front of anyone.

My Mind the prison.
My Heart and Soul prisoner.

The chains,
Anxiety and Depression.

My Body the canvas,
Mindful of my Oppression.

There’s no peace I can find, in any corner of the world,
I go to the woods and find the swaying trees whispering your name,
The light of the sun caresses my body like your touch,
The evening hues seem coated with the color of your skin,
I find your gaze in the eyes of the eagle, strong yet subtle,
The flowers seem to do nothing but smell like you,
I don't blame the sweet peas or the woods,
Because maybe I’m in love with you.

I go to the seas, with agony and grief,
Hoping that the waves, would weather my wit,
But I get lost in the waters, as if it were your arms,
The seagulls chant your name and I chase them, to the storm,
The ferocious storm haunting the sea is like my feelings for you,
I see the billows heading towards me, the wreck is a gift, if it's from you,
I don't blame the the clouds or the gales,
Because maybe I'm in love with you.

We are all mothers
As we care for one another while going about business as usual
Our greatness in the guidance of the women whose scalloped hands stirrup our feet in the rooms and halls and roads of our lives
Who we notice only when we focus our eyes on our own faces, on our own working hands, on our own burdened hearts.